A Smile So Bright
by SilverKitsune1
Summary: Artie Abrams figures out he's bisexual and apparently has a type. Blaine/Artie one sided.


Title: A Smile So Bright  
Author:**Silverkitfic**  
Rating: R  
Fandom: Glee  
Warnings: None.  
Summary: Artie Abrams is bisexual and apparently has a type.  
Pairings: One sided Artie/Blaine. One sided Artie a whole bunch of people actually.  
Authors' Note: I was going for funny. I'm not sure I pulled it off. Constructive criticism welcome.  
Thanks: Many thanks to my betas Lj users **storyfan** and **sam_can_do_it**.

* * *

It was a pretty normal sex dream as far as Artie's sex dreams went. He was on his bed with his back pressed against the headboard, and Brittany was straddling his lap. She nipped the hollow of his throat, and worked her way down his naked chest while her hand slowly slid under the waistband of his pajama pants. Artie, in turn, nuzzled his way around the edge of her bra, enjoying the contrast of silky-soft skin with the harder texture of the lace that had gone stiff after too many washes.

It was nice, it was fun, and it was completely run of the mill. Until all of the sudden it wasn't, and there was a flat broad chest where there should have been boobs, and the scratch of day-old stubble rubbing across his bare chest. In any other situation, Artie imagined having Brittany turn into Dustin Goolsby mid-sex dream would have been upsetting, but there was still a hand wrapped around his dick, although it was larger than before, and there was still a warm mouth leaving hickeys across his chest. Artie wasn't wearing his glasses, but he could easily count each of the small silver teeth that parted as he pulled the zipper of Dustin's ridiculously tight jeans down, though his mission was aborted when Dustin's lips pressed hard against his.

The place that was only 50/50 for tingles was suddenly 50/50 for fireworks, and when they broke apart Dustin pulled him close to whisper in his ear.

"Your glee club is an embarrassment to show choirs everywhere, and I'm thinking about killing your director. But you are _astounding._"

Artie woke up soaked in his own sweat. Like the time last winter when his dad had accidentally turned the thermostat up to eighty, and they'd almost all cooked alive under their winter bedding. The whole world felt hazy, his body sticky and weighted down. He barely registered being awake at all before throwing his arm over his eyes and dropping into a dreamless oblivion.

He didn't remember any of it until the next morning. While the water from his early morning shower washed the sleep and nighttime away from his mind and the sweat away from his body he remembered he'd that dreamed about...something. It was hazy, and he finished shampooing his hair and was soaping up his chest before the details became sharp enough to examine.

Artie leaned against the tiled wall, lifted his head so that the water would get into his eyes and hoped it would make the world blurry and bearable again.

"Hot damn," he whispered.

####

It wasn't that he made a conscious decision to ignore the dream, but things got busy enough in his day-to-day life to make it easy for him to push it to the sidelines. So he'd had a pleasurable dream featuring two of the most attractive people he'd ever met? That was completely normal, and he had a production to run that was in danger of imploding at any moment. If it happened again he'd figure it out, but right now he had to focus on telling set designers just why they could only use shades of gray in the city backdrop, and convince his leads that they needed to get in touch with their inner sex animal if they were ever going to pull off one of the greatest love scenes of all time.

_(But, please, god,_ he found himself thinking. _Don't let it happen again.)_

Of course, prayers in Lima were rarely answered. They weren't even a week into rehearsal before Blaine, with his bright eyes and warm positive smile, started paying visits to Artie's dreamscape.

As he slept Blaine straddled his lap while they were both on stage, the _West Side Story_ scenery looming behind them, and a full audience in the auditorium.

"I so want to give us a standing ovation right now," Artie murmured against Blaine's collar bone. His hands covered Blaine's hips, and pulling him closer.

Luckily, his word was law here, and as if rehearsed, the audience jumped to their feet for three-and-one -half minutes of thunderous applause while Blaine nibbled his way across Arite's shoulder humming happily against his skin.

Somewhere around the final curtain call of _West Side Story_,Artie decided that talking about this with someone might be a good idea (His steadily expanding crush on Blaine was getting to be really embarrassing). He'd been trying out the word 'bisexual'. It felt odd on his tongue, but he made himself look in the mirror and say the word out loud before he went to bed. As though repeating it like a chant or a spell might make the whole situation easier to deal with.

Unfortunately, his list of possible sympathetic ears was short. His parents were knocked out immediately. Tina and Mercedes would mean well, but would tell half of New Directions in the course of an hour. Santana would mock him, and he'd heard Kurt say some _things_ in the past that did not set him up as a possible go-to guy for this. He needed someone quiet, someone trustworthy, and in a perfect world someone who just might understand what he was going through.

When he thought it over he realized there was someone who just might hit all of those stops, but it was still with some trepidation that Artie rolled his way to Mike's locker at the end of an exhausting and emotional day..

"Hey Artie," Mike said, sparing him a tight-lipped smile. "What's up?"

Artie hesitated for a moment, but then squared his shoulders and decided that if nothing else Mike would hear him out.

"Do you remember a few months ago when Mr. Schue announced booty camp? Remember what you said about Kurt's moves?"

Mike looked panicked. Artie lowered his voice, and the rest of the sentence came out in a rush.

"You said his sashaying was super distracting, and I may have noticed that during _West Side Story_ you might have—watched him a little more than the other dancers."

Mike turned pink and took a step back. Artie rolled his chair forward, which meant that his hands weren't free, which was a shame since he felt like he should be holding them up as though approaching a frightened animal. Mike suddenly reminded Artie of a baby deer. Any noise above a whisper was going to spook him, and that was not what Artie needed. This was not the reaction he'd expected. He wondered if he should have just opened with _I'm having sex dreams that include guys. Help?_

"Mike, hey. It's okay."

Mike rubbed his hand over his mouth, and when it fell back to his side a rush of words poured out. "Tina says it's normal!"

"Dancing Kurts?" Artie asked.

"She said it's normal," Mike whispered. "That sexuality is on a bell curve, and it's normal for me to be straight, but have an exception. She made a chart!"

Mike was clutching the strap of his backpack so tight that the bones in his hand looked dangerously close to breaking through the skin.

"Right." Artie thought for a moment. "Where is Tina, anyway?"

"Reading aloud to Blaine," Mike said. "Because of his eye. Her mom called her in. The Asian community – well you know."

Surprised, Artie's eyebrows rose. "Hold up. Blaine's Asian?"

Artie left the rather sulky-sounding _I could have read to him, too_ unsaid.

Mike's head bobbed. "Half Filipino."

"Oh." Artie filed that information away, then tried to get them back on track. "That's nice, but back to Blaine's boyfriend Kurt and his magical shimmy."

"I'm normal," Mike whispered, looking at Artie with such a hopeful expression that Artie couldn't help but shove his own problems to the side. "Tina _told_ me."

"Of course you are, bro," Artie said. "I just wanted to make sure that you knew I was here in case you needed to talk. To a bro. Not that Tina isn't great, but sometimes you need a guy to unload on, right?"

Mike was nodding frantically, and he looked so relieved when Artie held out his knuckles for a fist bump that Artie let the topic drop.

That night Artie laid on his bed after a rewatching _Inception_, wondering what he would do if he could craft his dreams to his specific liking.

When there was nothing left but a black screen he decided to try something. He closed his eyes and pictured Kurt. He lined him up the way he'd line up a camera shot which was something Artie had done a lot in the past year. He thought about the way he'd have Kurt raise his chin and tilt his head. He tried to figure out how pale Kurt's skin might be against something like a metal bridge in the background, and how they'd need to adjust the lighting to get the appropriate contrast. Black and white would be a good choice for the shot, and he'd prefer an overcast day with lots of clouds. It would beautiful, because Kurt was beautiful, and Artie was going to be a master at this some day. It would be breathtaking. It would do absolutely nothing for his lower areas.

He sighed and turned on the nightly news. When Rod Remington flashed a perfect smile Artie's stomach dropped, and his dick twitched the same way it had that morning when a Cheerio's skirt had twirled above her thighs showing off her gold spanks.

That night Rod Remington read him the news next to a skirt-less Cheerio, and the wink he sent Artie at the end made him wake up panting. Artie stared into the shadows of his room, the pieces of the dream carefully rearranging themselves in a clear and rather disturbing picture.

"I have a type, and it includes Rod Remington," Artie whispered into the dark. "I need an adult."

The next day Artie left Ms. Pilsbury's office with a pamphlet shoved deep into the pocket of his backpack, and a sinking feeling that Mr. Scheu would probably know all about his visit by the end of lunch. If he was lucky, their lesson in glee would in no way, shape or form involve learning to love yourself.

It turned out to be a lesson in singing the Spanglish version of "Sexy And I Know It" with a man who had the most beautiful smile Artie had ever seen outside of a toothpaste commercial. Sometimes, even in Lima, the universe threw Artie a bone.

The sexy new Spanish teacher, his crush being absent (Good Idea/Bad Idea: Visit a high-as-a-kite Blaine with confessions of his slowly growing feelings since this was one of the few times he'd be able to wiggle out of a confrontation by saying it must have been the drugs, and he had no idea what Blaine was talking about.), and a new appreciation for Sugar's skin tight jeans kept Artie busy all day. He wasn't able to look at Ms. Pilsbury's proud offering until he was home that night.

The pamphlet was surprisingly helpful, considering that the cover was graced by five cartoon boy band members holding microphones, and the title of the thing was "So You Thing You're Bi Bi Bi." It also came with a hotline. Artie made sure his door was locked, and then punched the number into his phone. Artie wasn't sure what he was hoping for. He wasn't suicidal. He wasn't ashamed of himself or confused he just wanted to talk about this with someone who he wouldn't have to face the next morning if all of this went kerplooy. Funny, he'd never actually heard of this organization.

The ringing ended, and a disturbingly familiar voice filled his ear.

"You've reached Keep The Rainbow Bright your local GLBT help hotline. What can I do for you?"

"Um, hi,"Artie started. "I've recently discovered that I—the thing is that I've been having these dreams and feelings and I think I'm bisexual." Artie paused. "Wow, you're the first person I've ever told."

He hadn't actually gotten the word out with Ms. Pilsbury, and she'd seemed happy enough to deal with the situation using vague metaphors and encouraging hand gestures.

"While I'm a little unsettled by your generation's need for labels," the voice said. "I will say that I am honored to have been the first one to hear your wonderful news."

Artie blinked. "Right. Thanks. I just...I'm not entirely sure what to do with this. What am I _supposed_ to do with this? I can barely get girls to date me, and most of the guys at my school don't know how to wash their own balls. How am I supposed to be _good_ at this?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"If I may share a word of advice with you."

"Yes, please!" Artie said. His free hand lifted his glasses away so that he could massage the bridge of his nose. "Anything."

"When you go out into the world I promise you'll meet many people. Many of them will be champion ball washers. No matter what their hygiene issues, what's important is to remember that people, no matter what their gender, sex or orientation, are all complex and passionate. They're filled with dreams, hopes, fears and an array of sexual appetites. The only thing you have to do to be _good_ at any of this is to treat any partner, no matter how many you may have, with respect and kindness. Also, make sure that they're treating you with the same."

It was so ridiculously simple that Artie felt a little silly at feeling so relieved.

"Wow," Artie said. "That's really smart."

"I'm happy to have helped you. Is there anything else you'd like to discuss?" the voice asked. "If you're comfortable sharing the area that you're calling from I can get you a list of local support groups."

"Actually," Artie said. "I was wondering. In your personal opinion. I've been developing feelings for a boy, but he happens to be my friend's boyfriend. How bad, on a scale of one to ten, would it be to try and seduce him anyway?"

"Son," the voice said, seriously. "A man should never be ashamed for refusing to keep the tiger in its cage."


End file.
